Cocoon
by Enraged Avocado
Summary: Stay long enough, and eventually you become your own cage.


"You shouldn't have returned Harry," Neville said.

Harry cocked his head at the cocooned man plastered on the wall. Neville's face, no longer flesh and bone, craned to peer down at Harry.

"I know," Harry said, but he didn't. He was just as trapped as Neville was now. Nothing to live for, and only one thing to die for. He had been born to come back, and he had.

"So what do you plan to do?" Neville's neck receded back into the black sludge that his being had become and he returned to staring ominously at the ceiling.

Harry blinked once, then again. What a stupid question. "Burn the fucker down."

Neville didn't respond in any verbal or visible manner. Harry pivoted and started his way back down the hall.

The trophies lined the hall all the way to his destination. Friends and enemies, trapped in an eternal torment, until they became their own encasing. Undying, and far beyond dead.

The blackened sludge encased the floor he walked, and he would have been caught by it if he were any other man. The odor of the dead and undead filled his nostrils, allowing him to escape his own horrid odor for the first time in years. It had been the constant reminder of his exile, so it was only fitting it did not accompany him upon return.

Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry was nowhere to be found, in its place the encased form of Antonin Dolohov.

Harry tapped his wand against his chin. Every British witch and wizard he had ever known was inside these walls. He only knew three wizards or witches that weren't British, and of those he knew only the younger Delacour sister lived.

Dolohov spoke, low and guttural and very wrong.

"I didn't think-".

Harry smiled up at him. "If you don't think, you shouldn't talk."

Dolohov quieted, staring forlornly at the entrance to the Room.

Harry spoke again, maddened beyond reason, pacing in front of the entrance thrice. "I'm sorry, but I haven't the time."

The entrance formed, marred the same as the rest of castle. La Porte de l'Enfer, The Thinker prominently displayed, surrounded by an eight headed serpent Harry knew didn't belong there.

The Room had a very grim sense of humor.

Harry tapped his foot impatiently and the door swung open in response.

Harry knew it wasn't the real chamber, but Harry couldn't help but be reminded of his second year.

This was Riddle's own chamber. A full body monument to Salazar spun, suspended in the middle of the chamber, and under it sat a rather innocent looking cabinet, atop it a silver diadem. Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange hung, cocooned against the wall to the left and right of the entrance.

Harry didn't take his eyes off the cabinet. Oh how he wished it had only been a passageway.

He drew closer, and the statue stopped spinning as it faced him.

"Ah, so the Prodigal Son returns." It was cold and cruel, yet held an undertone of pleased smugness.

Harry jumped in mock surprise, spinning on his heel. His eyes narrowed, and he stood completely still.

"Oh. I was afraid it was somebody important," Harry said.

Cedric's face twisted into a cruel smile. "Sorry to disappoint. But I must wonder why it took you so long. And to think, I was almost starting to miss you."

Harry turned back to the cabinet, unable to look at the blood red eyes that haunted him so. Was Cedric Diggory still trapped beneath the madness of the Riddle's possessive spirit? Why couldn't that rat just have killed the poor Hufflepuff?

"We have so much to catch up on. Would you care for some tea?" The voice of Voldemort asked, still smug and cold and evil and wrong.

"I'm sorry, but I just haven't the time." But who did? Harry smiled again as he lifted his wand.

Beasts of flame erupted from the holly stick. Lions and phoenixes, all dancing to Harry's tune. A lion let out a fiery roar and charged Voldemort, who stood unaffected as it extinguished around him.

Three fiery phoenixes flew above, circling the Dark Lord like vultures. They plunged at Voldemort simultaneously, all accomplishing nothing as they landed head first and dissipated.

Harry thought maybe there was a pun in there about pyromania and Pyrrhic victories.

Harry lifted his wand for the final time. A great stag erupted, too cold to be ice, and too hot to be fire.

It lowered its head and charged. The antlers pierced the cabinet, and the mighty beast flickered like a light.

The Room was engulfed in its wake, and Hogwarts went out altogether, like a candle.


End file.
